Here we wooeee go, pardners, it’s the Wild West times,
an’ the Wild South too, an’ the Wild East as well,
an’ the Wild Midwest — we’re all a’gonna go crazy
with them slick holsters and lightnin’ draws,
rifle-racked trucks, an’ all such stuff now.
I don’t like this, ‘n you don’t like that,
so reach for it, Mister — or let’s meet at high noon.
There’s gentlemen’s duels ‘n shot up saloons.
Blast in the back cowardly or honorably in front,
I see ya’, guess I’ll shoot ya’, why not, what the heck.
An’ I ain’t a’spillin’ my Starbucks, 100 percent.
A dude on the elevator’s invadin’ my space,
or some broad in Longs coughs in my face,
I’m pullin’ my iron an’ teachen ‘em a lesson.
Tip my 10-gallon an’ strut my long stride,
then quicker ‘n spit, damn, it’s my turn ta die.
Lanning Lee 